


Teach Me, Bellamy

by belgardebells



Category: The 100 (TV)
Genre: Class Differences, Constructive Criticism Welcome, Dubious Morality, F/M, Fluff and Smut, Immense Love, Immorality, Loss of Virginity, Moral Ambiguity, Self Confidence Issues, Sex Tutor, Size Kink, Tooth-Rotting Fluff
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-08-08
Updated: 2018-10-27
Packaged: 2019-06-07 05:18:23
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 14,615
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15212048
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/belgardebells/pseuds/belgardebells
Summary: Clarke is a 27 year old entrepreneur whose spent the last decade of her life working on establishing herself in the art community. Now that she's not only made a name for herself, but has also achieved her dream of opening her own art gallery, she finds herself severely lacking in the romance department while harbouring an aversion to dipping her toe into the world of dating.Enter Bellamy Blake, long-time friend and manager of the bar The 100. While initially hesitant to accept Clarke's proposition, he eventually agrees, and so begins a love affair.*tl;dr - Clarke is a 27 year old virgin who wants Bellamy to teach her about romance with a hands-on approach, and he agrees.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Just a bit of fun. I started a fic very similar to this in 2015, but never finished because I didn't like what I was doing with it. So this is a do-over. I mean idk what I'm talking about because I'm still going to update that one at some point, but anyway.
> 
> Hope you like!
> 
> Song mood - [Mine](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=QeUFmGLhI_s&ab_channel=PixlNetworks) by Bazzi.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I _despise_ Echo (to an obnoxious degree) and I'm going to get out my frustrations with her in this fic, so be prepared for bashing.
> 
> But mostly this is just fluff while Bellamy and Clarke navigate all these new and shiny feelings, oooooh.

  _~ Girl, I lose myself up in those eyes. I just had to let you know you're mine. ~_

* * *

This was the moment Clarke had been working toward her entire adult life. Opening night of her very own art gallery - and those were  _her_ pieces on the walls! At least thirty percent of the work held her artist's signature in the bottom corner. It should have been the best evening of her entire life, and she'd be lying if she said it was  _all_ a disappointment, but ... it was, a little.

She walked from guest to guest, making the necessary small talk with Thelonious Jaha's inner circle, thanking them for their support and generous financial donations. She made sure to direct everyone to the artwork of her student, Madi, who was debuting tonight. That was one of her evening's highlights. The rest of it was ... fine. Nothing special, nothing like she'd hoped it would be.

She had no one to share it with. None of her art school friends showed up, though they'd said they would. The rest of her friends couldn't make it because they were otherwise occupied attending the wedding of Bellamy's ex-girlfriend in the Bahamas. It was such a horrible coincidence that the dates lined up. Not even Madi could stay, as it was a school night and she'd had to be home early. By the end of the night, Clarke found herself exhausted and really just wanting to head home, maybe take a bath. The evening was definitely not turning out the way she'd hoped.

After it was over, around midnight, Clarke strolled the near empty halls, heels loud on the white marble flooring. There was one piece in particular that garnered a lot of attention, especially from Jaha's entourage. It was a self-portrait she'd done about a year ago right before her father's death. She'd been very happy at the time, tried capturing that emotion in the portrait using an array of certain colours and clever angle placements rather than simply painting on a smile. It was one of her personal favourites, but until that night, she hadn't shown a soul. It was personal, in a way. Or, had been.

She snapped a close-up and sent it to Bellamy, knowing the Bahamas were about three hours ahead of her time, so he would be in bed. That was all right. He'd send her a message when he woke.

 

_Check this portrait, Blake. Rated five stars by all of Jaha's peeps._

 

Clarke left the art gallery and sat on the stone bench outside, legs crossed, and dialed up a taxi. The familiar alert of an incoming text message sounded just as she was giving the taxi service her location. When she hung up, she was surprised to see the message was from Bellamy.

 

**very nice, griffin.. how much?**

 

She smiled to herself, settling in on the chilly bench.

 

_I'll sell it to you for half off, 25 thou_

 

It was really only worth a few hundred dollars, might even bid for close to a thousand to the right person.

 

**ill buy it for full as long as youre willing to take monthly payments for the rest of my life.. potentially from beyond the grave**

 

She laughed, biting the corner of her lip, and leaned back, tapping the toe of her heel on the sidewalk.

 

_I guess I could. Might have to draw up a contract since you're known to swindle._

_Did I wake you?_

 

She couldn't think of any other reason he'd be awake in the Bahamas at three in the morning. Or she could, but if he was sleeping with someone, he wouldn't exactly be taking the time to have a conversation with her. He sent a reply shortly after.

 

**no im working tonight.. its jam packed in here**

 

 _That_ confused her. And then her heart sank. He was in town?

 

_What? At The 100?_

 

**yeap.**

**swingin lots of tips >:)**

 

Clarke sat straight, mouth agape, fingers flying across the screen with the accompanying rapid  _tap tap taps._

 

_I thought you were in the Bahamas!_

 

**oh no i decided not to go.. didnt rlly want to in the first place**

  

Clarke slumped back against the wall.

 

_Well, this sucks. Tonight was my gallery's opening night. I would have invited you if I'd known you were here._

 

There was no reply for a minute. But he'd said the bar was packed. She was obviously taking up too much of his time.

But then her phone rang, and the familiar picture of Bellamy lit up the screen - in a long-sleeved, royal blue shirt, drunk and laughing with his arm thrown around Clarke's shoulders while she made the ridiculous face he was laughing at. When she swiped the green arrow, Bellamy was speaking before she'd even had the phone to her ear.

"Tell me I didn't actually miss your opening night."

His voice was audibly upset, laced with shock. It was quiet in the background, so she assumed he'd gone into the back.

"Well, it's all right," she said quietly, staring at her shoes scraping against the cement. "It's not like you knew."

"Oh, fuck," he groaned, the sound muffled like he was running his hand down his face. "That photo you sent was a painting on display, then, wasn't it?"

"Yeah," she said, nodding. "People seemed to like it."

Bellamy grumbled. "I'm really, really sorry, Clarke. I didn't even realize the date."

She pulled her bottom lip into her mouth, suppressing her smile. Before she could say anything, Bellamy sighed harshly.

"I know this isn't even remotely the same thing, but why don't you bring me along next time you go? I'd love to see it."

She beamed, scuffing her heel softly against the ground before crossing one arm over her abdomen.

"What about tonight?" she asked, but then quickly added, "Unless you're too tired after your shift. There's no rush."

"Hey, are you kidding?" he asked, sounding almost affronted. "Of course I'll come tonight. But I've still got another couple hours on the clock."

"Well, that's fine."

She could wait.

"You want to come to the bar to get your proper congratulations?" he asked. "Newly established artists drink for free."

Clarke laughed. "Yeah, okay. I'll see you in a bit, then."

Twenty minutes later, Clarke was arriving by taxi to the covertly posh establishment that she'd considered as 'Bellamy's bar' for the past three years. He might as well be the owner, considering all he did for it as manager. Clarke's personal favourite aspect was the decorations, most of which she'd had a hand in herself.

There were string lights above the side bar with pretty little bulbs the size of snowballs that Bellamy had let her pick out. The main bar was rugged and less well-decorated because Bellamy said the men didn't like 'froufrou' styles. Clarke had thought Bellamy was being ridiculous, and the decorations weren't  _froufrou_ , they were delicately stylish. But the male patrons did seem to adhere more to the main bar than the side ones. Clarke thought that was over-the-top unnecessary, but she wouldn't question whatever masculine ritual prevented them from sitting beneath light bulbs.

When she approached the bar, she saw Bellamy with his white dress shirt rolled to his elbows while he hastily squirted a tube of white icing on a frozen McCain cake. His barman, Miller saw Clarke first, promptly slapped Bellamy to alert him, and then Bellamy looked up and met her eyes. It wasn't long before she realized the cake was meant for her, and he'd used the icing to clumsily scrawl,  _CONGRATS CLARKEY GRIFF,_ on it.

"Would you look at that hot number?" he said loudly, grinning at her as she came closer, matching his smile.

Clarke felt herself blush. She was wearing a floor-length emerald silk slip dress that split just below her left knee. It had a deep v-neckline, a very low back and thin straps. Her hair was fluffed, hanging about her shoulders with soft pink highlights. Her heels were pale pink to match her hair.

Bellamy dropped the icing on the counter and pulled the tea towel from his shoulder to slap it over Miller's while he came out from behind the bar.

"Congratulations, Clarke," he said with a smile, leaning down to wrap his arms around her lower back and lift her into the air.

She laughed and held on as he spun her, the slippery material of her dress bunching a little in his hands.

"Everyone, listen up!" he said as he set her down, one arm still around her lower back. "Lovely lady in the green dress is my good friend, Clarke Griffin. She just opened up the Eden Art Gallery tonight, so to celebrate, everyone gets a free round!"

There was raucous cheering followed by many shouts of variations of, "Way to go, Clarke Griffin!"

Clarke was a little shy, but she was also smiling wider than she'd done the whole night. This was what she'd wanted: to share her excitement with someone who was just as excited for her achievements as she was. She'd known Bellamy would be.

Miller lit the sparse candles with a match before shaking it out and dropping it in the sink, spinning the cake toward her for her to blow them out.

"It's not much of a cake on short notice," Bellamy said, looking at it as his hand fell away. "But it was the best I could do at one A.M."

But Clarke was beaming. "It's perfect, Bellamy. Thank you."

He rubbed his forehead with his knuckle, a timid little smile on his face, and he called for cake cutting.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> short first chapter because this is about to expire in my drafts. if you want to leave a comment, I'd love to hear what you think, positive or negative :)))


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It begins.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yikers.. sorry for the wait! This is a pretty long chapter since the last one was so short. Another big 'yikers' to that. From now on it's updates every three or so days until completion.

Clarke was a little bit drunk by the time Bellamy was closing down the bar. She was more than a _little_ bit drunk, really. She was resting the side of her face on her arms crossed over the sticky bar while Bellamy and his co-workers got to cleaning up and wiping everything down. Bellamy chuckled at the state of her and lifted her arms off the table, wiping them off with the clean side of the cloth.

"You good there, Griffin?" he asked as she shivered, goosebumps erupting along her skin when she sat straight.

"'m cold," she murmured, crossing her arms.

Bellamy finished up wiping and rinsed his hands before going into the back. He came out a moment later with his puffy jacket and leaned across the bar to drape it over her shoulders, smiling when she hummed and stuck her arms through the holes.

"Give me just a few minutes and then we can get out of here," he said.

Clarke had her eyes closed, but she nodded slowly.

"Take your time."

She was pretty sure she fell asleep once or twice, waking with a jolt when her head started to loll off to the side. But when she heard Bellamy talking to the other workers and asking Miller to close down tonight, she properly came to with a few bleary blinks.

"Let's head out," said Bellamy, coming around the bar, keys jingling in his hand.

He helped Clarke off the stool, hand on her back as he guided her along to the door.

"So chivalrous," she said playfully, her drunk brain convincing her she wouldn't feel awkward about this once sober.

Bellamy just laughed quietly and held the door open for her.

It was chillier out now, even with Bellamy's jacket, and Clarke shivered as he lead them to his truck, bouncing his keys from one palm to the other. When they reached it, he opened the passenger door for her and helped her up, leaning over to buckle her in. His face was particularly close to hers, so she held her breath, not wanting to bombard him with alcohol smell. When he pulled away and closed the door, she exhaled and took a deep breath. She felt warm all over, bundled in his jacket, body loose from the alcohol. She watched him walk around the front of the truck, lifting his hand in a wave to someone driving by.

He smiled at Clarke when he opened his door and got in.

"All good?" he asked on an exhale, clipping his buckle.

"Yep, yep," she said, cheerful, fingers splayed on her knees.

He looked over at her as he put the key in the ignition and started up the truck, his eyes drawing a quick line over the length of her body.

"You want me to take you home?" he asked, holding the back of her headrest as he looked over his shoulder to reverse. "I can check out your gallery another time if that's better for you."

She snapped her head around to look at him.

"What? No, that's the whole reason I'm here."

He snorted, making sure the coast was clear before pulling out onto the road.

"And here I thought you'd stayed to keep me company."

Clarke bit the corner of her lip.

"That, too," she said. "But I was _kinda_ interested in showing you the gala tonight."

She heard a smile in his voice when he spoke. "Okay. Sounds good."

He switched on the radio and turned it to low volume, acting as background noise while they drove through the city. Sober-Clarke normally didn't care much for pop music, but drunk-Clarke was all about it. After a few minutes, she was swaying to the slow beat, elbow propped against the door and chin resting in her hand as she watched the cars pass by. Night time downtown was always one of her favourite times to go for a drive with all the blinking lights and windows lit in skyscraper buildings. When she sang a song lyric under her breath, she could see Bellamy glance at her in her periphery. She looked his way, but he was already focused on the road again, a soft smile on his face.

The drive to the art gallery seemed short on account of Clarke falling dead asleep every few minutes. She only woke up when Bellamy's door closed, and she realized they were parked on the curb next to her building. He walked around the truck to open the door for her, and she grabbed her purse and took off her seat belt.

"Hurry up," he rushed her, stomping his feet with one hand in his pocket. "Super cold out here."

Clarke jumped down from the seat and stepped around him to get to the building. The street was mostly vacant, a few cars parked here and there, but mostly it was empty. Clarke searched her purse on the way to the door, rifling through gum wrappers and crumpled notes to find her keys. Bellamy was at the door before she was, looking rather impatient.

"Relax, jeez," she muttered, finally finding her keys and unlocking the building.

Once inside, she turned on the light and quickly locked the door, setting the blinds perfectly back in place. It wasn't a very dangerous part of town, but at three in the morning, anywhere could be dangerous. She dropped the keys back in her purse and asked Bellamy if he wanted his jacket back when she noticed how tensed his shoulders were. He shook his head, not really paying attention. His gaze was focused instead on the interior.

"Wow," he said, looking around. "This place is pretty high-end."

"Well, it's an art gallery," said Clarke, watching him. "That's the definition of an art gallery."

He nodded, stepping further into the room. There was a short hall from the entrance into a much longer and wider hall, all white walls with white and grey marble flooring and dim, hanging lights. There were three floors, all above ground, and the building stretched far into the back, each floor having three large rooms. A lot of Clarke's paintings were on the second and third floors, taking up the walls along high-traffic areas plus her own small viewing room.

The ones Bellamy was looking at weren't hers, but she still liked how interested in it he seemed.

"So what do you think?" she asked when he was silent for a minute, walking around and looking at everything.

"This is awesome," he said at once, sounding a little distracted, and then he looked at her over his shoulder. "They don't look like yours, though."

It sounded like a question.

"They're not," she said with a small shake of her head. "How do you know what mine look like?"

He scoffed, turning to face her fully and walk toward her, studying the paintings again.

"I've seen tons of your stuff," he said, like it was obvious. "If I didn't know your art style by now, that would be pretty bad." He met her eyes when he was in front of her, hands still in his pockets, and smiled. "Where's that painting you texted to me earlier?"

"Oh, it's on the second floor," she said, already leading the way.

Bellamy followed obediently behind her. When she glanced over her shoulder, she saw him doing his best to take everything in. It was so nice, this feeling. She was happy that he was so into it, even with the paintings that weren't her own.

She lead him to the upper floor on the spiral staircase. Up here, the paintings belonged to more high-end artists. The idea for the layout was to give newbies the first floor so that people couldn't bypass their work, and the more advanced artists would present on the top two floors and the back rooms. It had worked well, all the artists under Clarke's tutelage getting their time in the spotlight. Madi's was on the second floor, just past the staircase.

"Oh, here," she said, taking Bellamy by the arm to stop him when he walked aimlessly past her. "This is Madi's showcase piece."

It was a well done painting of Bellamy's little sister, Octavia - painted into the role of something Madi called 'Sky Ripper'. She and Octavia came up with it together. Her dark hair was pulled back in a ponytail, black paint around her eyes making her look intimidating and maybe even a little dangerous. There were warrior-like symbols on her forehead and neck painted in black that trailed down beneath her clothes, which were reminiscent of video-game fighter garb.

Bellamy let out a low-whistle.

"This looks just like O," he said, nodding with raised eyebrows. "Kid's got talent."

Clarke was smiling. "Yeah. I'm pretty proud of her."

Bellamy stared a moment longer before he was nudging her with his elbow.

"Now show me your stuff, come on."

Clarke bit back a laugh and walked around him to another hall, gesturing with her hand as he approached.

"Enter if you dare," she said, playful, standing back to let him pass.

Bellamy snorted, folding into the room.

"I super dare," he muttered, but then he was looking at all the paintings, and his face opened at once into one of awe.  _"Whoa."_

This hall was all hers. She had paintings hung throughout the building, mingling with other artists' pieces, but this hall was exclusively her own. There were fourteen paintings spaced evenly along both walls. Most of them were colourblasts of real people and locations, others were black-and-whites with one or two spots of colour for highlighting purposes, and others were black-and-white and coloured realism paintings. With the background of the white walls, they all really stood out. Jaha decided to space them in such a way that each painting drew the eye to the one beside it, balancing different heights and sizes with their counterparts.

Bellamy didn't move at first, looking around at everything like he was trying to absorb it all at once.

"Wha-at?" he said in disbelief, dragging the word out. "I haven't seen, like ... half of these. More than half."

"Yeah." She knew that already. "These are my private pieces."

There was one of him right in the center of the left wall. It was the biggest one of all, colourblast like most of them. It was an upper body one, his hair painted into a thick and messy mop of curls. His eyes were his exact shade of brown, focused off into the distance off-frame. His stance was one of confidence, a pleased look on his face, though his expression was mostly empty. As soon as Bellamy saw it, he was smiling, walking up to it.

"Is this me?" he said quietly, clearly pleased, and then to stroke her ego, added, "This isn't a painting, it's a _photo_."

She laughed, standing back with crossed arms, watching. "You know it's not, goof."

He didn't say anything else for a minute, just staring at the painting, occasionally narrowing his eyes when he noticed more and more subtle details, like the way she'd blended streaks of burnt yellow into his dark curls to create depth. After a moment, he stood straight again, shaking his head in awe.

"This is ... I mean, I already knew you were talented, but seeing it like this...." He paused, looking sideways at her. "I'm _really_  amazed by you, you know that?"

Clarke let out a soft sound, something between a laugh and a dismissal, warmth blooming in her chest. She could see from his expression that he was telling the truth.

"That one you were trying to sell me?" he asked.

"You _asked_ to buy it!" she said, face flushed, but she was beaming.

"Yeah, where's it at?" he asked, smiling right back.

She pointed to the opposite wall, right across from the portrait of him. She hadn't decided the placement, but if she had, she still would have put hers and Bellamy's in those same spots.

 _"I want these two in the center of the room,"_ Jaha had said, thoughtful.  _"The King and Queen, focal points of each wall. It fits beautifully, holds everything together."_

Jaha didn't even know who Bellamy was, but he apparently thought he was a match to Clarke. She didn't try to dispute him. She kind of agreed.

Bellamy looked to where she was pointing, and turned to face it fully.

"Oh, man," he said, so quietly she almost didn't hear it, and walked up to it.

Of all the paintings, this was the one she was most nervous to show him, which was probably why it was the one she'd sent him in a text message, needing some kind of validation that it was a good one. With his eyes on the painting, it was like he was just staring at _her_ , appraising _her_ , looking at _her_ , as though she was the painting itself. But he didn't seem he was being critical. He seemed like he was looking at something beautiful.

"Kinda want to hang this above my bed," he said, letting out a small laugh, totally in his own world.

Clarke didn't even try to suppress her smile.

 _This_ had been what she'd wanted. This connection, this sharing, this genuine pride someone might take in her accomplishments. This gallery was a huge deal to her, her dream since she was a little girl, finally achieved! And when she walked through the halls earlier in the night, there was just that  _something_ missing. But she had it now. Here, with Bellamy marveling at her work, she had what she wanted all night.

It wasn't often that she longed for a romantic partner, but when she did, it was to get the things that Bellamy was giving her right then.

"I sometimes wish I was in a relationship," she said quietly, leaning against the wall and looking at the painting of her.

Bellamy let out a short laugh, looking back.

"That came out of nowhere."

She shook her head, pushing away from the wall and walking up to him. He kept his eyes on her as she approached.

"I was just thinking about how nice it is to be able to do this with you," she said, coming to stand next to him, eyes still on her painting just so she didn't have to look at him. "I had no one to share this with."

Bellamy's features softened, and he bumped her shoulder with his.

"Well, I'm here now," he said, giving her a gentle smile before looking back at the painting of her.

His statement was both pleasant and painful. It  _was_ nice having him there. It was nice that he'd even wanted to come to her art gallery at three in the morning instead of telling her it was too late and he was tired, which he undoubtedly was. But it just ... wasn't the same. She wanted to hold hands, and kiss, and be picked up and spun around, teased and touched and held. Not - not with Bellamy ... specifically. Just someone who she cared about who cared about her. Someone  _like_ Bellamy, but who ...  _unlike_ Bellamy ... liked  _her._

But she really didn't know what that would be like on account of her having never experienced anything like it. She'd never been in a relationship, never dated or had one night stands, held hands with anyone who wasn't a close female friend. Octavia was in a loving relationship, Raven was in a loving relationship, Murphy and Miller and Monty were  _all_ in loving relationships, and sometimes, Clarke wished she knew what that was like.

Though at this point, it was - frankly - a little embarrassing. She'd had options before, and there were certainly people who'd wanted to sleep with her, but since she graduated high school, all her time and energy had gone to this; to opening her own art gallery. Her sole interest had been painting and drawing, and soon thereafter, teaching younger children how to do what she did, which also helped her learn and develop her skills.

So that left her incredibly wary of relationships, of dating in general, really. It was just too hard at this point. She wanted someone, but she didn't think she could tell anyone that she was as inexperienced as she was without scaring them off. They'd think something was wrong with her. And who knew; maybe there was. She'd never had a particularly high sex drive, for one thing ... never used toys, only masturbated once in a while during particularly high stress points. She just hadn't needed it. She'd been too busy.

But now that she was older, she realized something she hadn't known back then; that half the point of accomplishing her goal was to share it with someone she loved. What did it matter otherwise? What did anything matter if she was alone?

Though ... she wasn't alone. Bellamy was with her, still gazing at her painting like he was in awe of it, maybe even a little in awe of her. It was lucky, in a way, that she hadn't known he was in town tonight. Having him show up to her opening night with all the other people, it just wouldn't have been as special as this. There was no one in her life quite like him ... no one who cared about her like he did. So she was actually quite happy he'd missed the opening. It meant that this was their moment and theirs alone. No one else in the world would share this memory with her ... just Bellamy.

Suddenly, somewhere deep in the recesses of her drunken mind, the cogs began to turn.

She wanted a relationship, yet she was wary of dating. If she wasn't so lacking where intimate experiences were concerned, maybe she wouldn't be so wary. If she had someone to  _help_ her, someone who was mature enough not to scoff at her inexperience....

Clarke couldn't stop looking at him, heart beating harder in her chest just at the prospect of it all.

Bellamy was mature at 32 years old. Bellamy was very experienced. And Bellamy was single.

Very, _very_ single.

"Costs ten dollars for every minute you stare, Clarke."

She clamped her mouth shut, swallowing.

"I wasn't staring."

He chuckled, saying nothing.

She tried to coach herself to calm down, to just relax because it was only Bellamy, but somehow, that thought made her all the more nervous. It wasn't  _only_ Bellamy, it was  _Bellamy!_

She cleared her throat, clasping her hands tightly together, his jacket rustling as she moved.

"You're not seeing anyone in secret right now, are you?" she asked, just to make sure before she did anything stupid.

"No," he said, and her heart skipped a beat. It skipped another when he met her eyes with a cheeky smile. "Why? You offering?"

She hesitated, able to feel the dumb, gaping look on her face. "In a way."

Bellamy choked out a laugh. "Wait, what?"

He looked confused.

"Before you freak out," she said, as though she herself wasn't in a mild state of panic, terrified he was about to laugh and shut her down despite her confidence mere seconds ago that he would _not_ , "I don't mean what you think I mean."

Bellamy frowned deeply. "You don't know what I think you mean."

"What do you think I mean?" she asked in a rush.

Bellamy was still for a long moment before he shook his head.

"I don't know."

Clarke's shoulders deflated. She was suddenly very aware of how close they were standing, how very heart-on-her-sleeve she was behaving despite his obvious lack of encouragement. Really, she should just shut up.

"I'm a virgin," she said instead. "In every single sense of the word. I've never even kissed anyone."

Bellamy had been staring at her in shock, but at that he snorted, expression cracking into one of strong disbelief.

"Clarke, fuck off."

"I'm serious!"

He wasn't buying it. "No fucking way have you never kissed anyone."

The obvious way in which he said it stung, like the idea that she was telling the truth was so unbelievable. It made her feel like there was something wrong with her. She didn't know why she'd expected Bellamy to go easy on her with this in this first place, but seeing as he wasn't, then maybe there  _was_ something wrong with her.

"Yes way, unfortunately," she mumbled, turning away, fingers fidgeting.

Bellamy shook his head, looking off to the side.

"You're just saying weird things because you're drunk."

"Oh, my God, Bellamy," she snapped, glancing at him, incredibly irritated. "Do you want to inspect my hymen or something?"

"No!" he said quickly, brows raised, and then frowned deeply, gesturing to her with a hand. "What is going on with you right now?"

She pressed her lips together, wondering if she should even bother explaining.

And then her drunk brain convinced her that, hey - what was the harm in it?

"Here's the thing," she started, pleasantly surprised when he didn't interrupt at her pause, "I've spent the last ... entirety of my life trying to accomplish ... this." She gestured with both hands to the room, though Bellamy's eyes didn't leave hers. "That's it. That's all I've worked on. You've known me all our lives, you know I've never been in a relationship."

"I kn - yeah, but ... the rest of it just doesn't make sense to me."

"I know it's weird since I'm already twenty-seven, but like I said--"

"Clarke, that's not what I meant."

"Oh, really?" she said, sarcastic.

"Yes!" he said firmly.

"Then what did you mean? Why else would it be such a _shock_ to you that I've never been kissed?"

"Clarke, you're  _beautiful_ ," he said, like it was the most obvious thing in the world instead of the first time he'd complimented her appearance so sincerely. "I was just shocked because that's ... that's pretty fucking uncommon, to tell you the truth. Girls who look like you aren't virgins at twenty-seven. Unless they're saving themselves for marriage or something."

"Well ... I'm not."

It was more than a little difficult to ignore how off-handed his comment was. Did he mean it? How could he say it so easily if he meant it?

His lips parted, and he frowned. "Why are you telling me all this?"

Hadn't she answered that already?

"Because I ... I don't trust anyone else like I trust you."

He waited for a moment like he thought more was coming.

"Okay," he said slowly. "I still - I don't understand."

She took a deep breath. "I want you to teach me, Bellamy."

"Teach y--what? Teach you? Teach you what?"

He said it all so quickly that his words jumbled together, sounding rushed and nervous and still pretty confused.

She swallowed. "How to ... do ... stuff. Like, I don't know, basic things. Like kissing, and touching, and sex--"

His face contorted in the most dramatic frown she'd ever seen.

"Wait, hang on -  _what?"_

She shrunk into herself, drunk mind a little confused.

"Is that too weird?" she asked, meek.

"It's--" he started, shaking his head, and then frowned and looked to the ground. He was clearly having a difficult time forming words.

Clarke didn't know what to say, so she didn't say anything, choosing instead to bite the inside of her cheek until it twinged in pain.

Finally, Bellamy closed his eyes, shaking his head head before opening his gaze again to the ground.

"I can't do that, Clarke."

His voice was quiet, jaw clenching, and he wasn't looking at her.

"Oh," she said stupidly. "Okay." For the first time, she wondered if maybe her request had further-reaching consequences than she'd anticipated. "I mean - I know. It's not like I - I wasn't really ... um ... okay."

"Wait, hang on, just--" He stopped, sighing, and propped his hands on his hips, dropping his head. "Fuck."

He was making such a huge issue out of this that Clarke's embarrassment was quickly dipping into full on mortification. Was the thought of having sex with her really so awful? He'd called her beautiful, though.

"Well, don't act like it's torture," she said, tightly crossing her arms and looking away. "It's not even a big deal."

"Yes, it _is_ a big deal," he said, voice much louder. "It _is_. You should be doing this with someone you have feelings for."

Clarke rolled her eyes at his haughtiness.

"As if you have feelings for every girl you sleep with."

"I did for the first one," he said without hesitation.

It was irritating, that thought. She had to do everything his way or else it was wrong?

"Well, I'm already twenty-seven," she said, only able to hold his eyes for the briefest moment. "I don't care about it being with someone special anymore."

His face dropped, and he stared a moment before dropping his arms. He nodded once, looking away.

"Right." His tone was clipped.

She'd hurt his feelings.

"I didn't--" She exhaled sharply. "You know I didn't mean it like that."

He said nothing, jaw flexing.

"Bellamy..." she murmured, stepping forward and taking his lower arm lightly in her hands.

He didn't pull away, but she felt his forearm tense when his hand tightened into a fist. She dropped her hands, and Bellamy crossed his arms, eyes on the ground.

"Look ... I just can't, Clarke. Okay?"

She nodded, turning her face away to hide her blush behind her hair.

"All right," she muttered. "I know."

He sighed, looking to the stairs.

"Can we go?" he asked, still not meeting her eyes.

She parted her lips, one eyebrow briefly jumping. A half hour drive - or longer - alone with Bellamy after all this?

"I could just ... I can get a taxi," she said, looking to the stairs herself, wanting to rush out. "It's no problem--"

"No - Clarke--" He stopped, shaking his head and finally looking at her, gaze softening when it met hers. "Come on, let me give you a ride, okay? Please?"

She wanted to resist again, but she figured that would just make it more awkward. She was tired of arguing. She never should have asked him at all, because of  _course_ he wouldn't understand. What a horrible mistake.

Clarke lead them down the stairs in silence, not so much as looking at him until they'd crossed the marble stone on the ground floor and left the building. She took pains not to look at his face when he came out after her, keeping her own gaze turned to the ground. While he went to the truck, she locked the door, taking her time and muttering noiselessly at the glass, eyes squeezed shut in a pained expression. She was dreading the ride. God, it was going to be so uncomfortable. Maybe she could feign unconsciousness.

Oh, God - better yet: in the morning, she could pretend she didn't remember any of this. That thought was an absolute godsend.  _Godsend._

After tugging on the door to make sure it was locked, she took a deep breath and turned, heading for the passenger side of the truck. She had her eyes focused down, so she didn't notice at first that Bellamy was standing beside the passenger door, holding it open and waiting for her. Her steps faltered for just a moment before she hurried up, not wanting to leave him standing in the cold. He must have been feeling as uncomfortable with this whole situation as she was, and yet, he was still nice enough to take her home.

"Thanks," she mumbled, climbing in.

He didn't say anything, but she saw him nod, and then he closed her in. Those brief seconds while she was alone in the truck were more than welcome. She took off his jacket, wishing she'd just insisted on taking the bus.

The driver door creaked when he opened it, the truck rocking a little as he climbed in and closed the door, starting it up.

Neither of them said anything as he pulled out onto the road. Inexplicably, Clarke was sucking in her stomach, sitting as straight as possible with her shoulders back, jaw raised to eliminate the possibility for a double chin. Soon after, her back was aching, but she didn't relax. The mere act of sitting comfortably seemed wrong, as though she might as well add physical discomfort to her emotional one.

Discreetly, she leaned her head back against the headrest and closed her eyes. She was going to pretend to be asleep on the ride home, because she was sure Bellamy was just as eager as she was to have some sense of solitude.

Only, her eyes had been closed for barely a minute when his voice made her pop them open again.

"I just don't understand," he started, voice intense, as though they'd been in the middle of a discussion and not only beginning one. "I can't figure out why you would ask me of all people."

Clarke thought that was unlikely, but he really did sound confused.

"We don't have to talk about it," she said, looking out the window. "I never would have asked if I'd known it would make you so mad."

"I'm not mad," he said with a little shake of his head, fingers raising slightly off the wheel. "It's fine that you asked. I'm not upset, I'm just ... I mean, you have to know that's a strange thing to ask your best friend, right?"

She closed her eyes, brows lightly pressed together.

"We don't have to talk about it," she muttered again, dearly hoping he would just drop it. "I'm sorry I said anything."

"You don't have to apologize--"

"Bellamy, what?" she asked loudly, eyes snapping open as she looked at him. "What are you doing right now? I'm _obviously_ humiliated about how this turned out. I'm not really interested in being talked down to by you when you just rejected me."

"I'm not talking down to - Clarke, I didn't  _reject_ you."

"Okay - yes, you did," she said, irritated now by his clear dismissal of _real_ events that had _actually_ occurred. "I asked you to have sex with me, and you said no. That's rejection--"

"I said no because it's an important thing!"

"And I told you it's not!"

Bellamy exhaled sharply, and then so did Clarke, rolling her eyes to the window.

"Just ... _stop_ it, please?" she asked. "I don't want to fight or ... drag it out or ... whatever," she said, ending in a mumble as she crossed her arms and sank into the seat, eyes cast out the window.

Bellamy took a breath like he was going to say something else, but then she heard him sigh. The following seconds of silence were incredibly awkward, so Clarke quickly turned on the radio before going back to staring outside. Neither of them said anything the rest of the ride home.

It was easy, after the first few minutes, to enter into her own little world. She really was quite drunk, and tired, and despite how abrupt and tense the very end of the night had been, the day was a good one overall. She'd achieved her lifelong  _dream,_ for crying out loud. In theory, nothing should be able to spoil the day. Not even this stupid thing with Bellamy. Tomorrow, she'd blame it on the alcohol, and both of them would accept that as an excuse just so they didn't have to face tension between them. It might be weird for a while, but they'd get over it. Clarke was sure of that.

Roughly twenty minutes later, they were pulling up to her high-rise in downtown Arkadia. It was a pretty spiffy building, thirty floors high with an obnoxious monthly rent, but Clarke's parents were way well-off and paid it for her. She lived on the twenty-second floor, which had made moving in day an absolute nightmare, but she actually liked being that high up. Usually, she took the stairs just for a little bit of extra cardio.

She was far too drunk tonight, though.

As soon as she went for her seat belt, Bellamy turned off the ignition and went for his. Clarke froze, lips parting when she looked at him.

"What are you doing?" she asked quickly.

His hands stilled. He looked at her, and then to her building.

"I'll walk you up--"

"No," she blurted, quickly shaking her head, and he looked at her again. "Don't. Okay? Please?"

He blinked a few times, looking ready to ignore her and do it anyway, but he just nodded, hands falling away from the seat belt clasp. Clarke could have sighed in relief. She quickly released herself and opened the door, stepping out gingerly so as not to tear her dress.

"Thank you for driving me home," she said, because that was only polite.

He nodded, left hand on the wheel. "Yeah, of course."

Clarke slung her purse over her shoulder, her silky dress ruffling in the icy breeze.

"I'll see you later, right?" she said, feeling stupid for needing the confirmation, yet needing it all the same.

"Yeah, I'll see you," he said, and then noticed the goosebumps erupting on her arms.

He grabbed for his jacket, but Clarke took a step back and pretended not to notice, closing the door and waving through the window. She didn't wait for him to wave back before she turned and strode toward her building's front door. She didn't hear his truck start up, and she wasn't about to look back to check. He was probably just waiting for her to get inside.

It took all her resolve, but she got to the elevator without sparing a glance over her shoulder. Due to the late hour, there was no one around except for the man behind the front desk, who just nodded at her. She tried to smile in return, but she knew it must have looked sad, so she just pressed the button for her floor and leaned back against the elevator wall, hands clasped around the steel bar behind her.

She _was_ sad. She didn't even really know why. It was stupid, this whole thing. The fact that she'd asked Bellamy for help, the fact that he'd said no, the awkward resulting conversation, all of it, stupid.

Besides, it wasn't like she couldn't make a Tinder profile. In theory, _someone_ would be okay with sleeping with a twenty-seven year old virgin. But the thought made her frown. It felt grimy, doing it just to do it, not caring about who it was with. She knew there were people who didn't think sex was a big deal, and that was great for them, but it meant something to her. She couldn't imagine sharing her first experiences with someone who didn't care about her. She wanted it to be with Bellamy.

Before she could ruminate over that any longer, the elevator  _dinged_ with the arrival at her floor, and she pushed away from the bar to step out into the hall. Her room was only a few doors down from the elevator, locked by a number pad. She grumbled at it as she punched in the pin, which just so happened to be Bellamy's birthday. He'd been the one to convince her to use it, not that it took much convincing. He'd said it was safer to use his birthday instead of hers, because sometimes when she was drunk, she couldn't remember her precise date of birth, but she always remembered his. He thought that was a little weird. In retaliation, Clarke thought he was  _extremely_ weird.

She stepped into her apartment and let the door fall closed behind her with a click, the automatic locking mechanism  _beeping_ cheerfully at her. The light in the hall was motion-detecting, and it came alive the minute the door opened, lighting her way. She kicked off her pale pink heels, groaning lightly at the relief as she flexed her toes and walked down the short hall. The kitchen and its island were directly on the right, the dining area and deck just in front of them, and the living room was the large space to the left of the dining table. It was an open-concept apartment, which Clarke liked. She didn't know if it would be a good place to have if she lived with roommates, but for living alone, it was perfect.

On her way to her bedroom, she passed through the living room and up the small step that lead to the bathroom, master suite, and large closet. She changed into a pair of grey sweatpants with fleecy insides, fluffy socks, and a white bunnyhug with nothing underneath. It would be ideal to shower, but for the moment, she really just wanted to go to sleep and let her brain process her stressors without her lucidity. It was taking all her strength not to think about Bellamy and how nervous she was about everything that happened, and despite that, she was thinking about him anyway. She knew they'd be okay tomorrow - she  _knew_ they would be - and yet....

Sighing, she padded over to the kitchen to the pale wooden cupboard to get ibuprofen and acetaminophen. The bottles rattled as she shook out one pill each, and then grabbed her water pitcher from the fridge. She took this pills with a tall, frigid glass, chugging it all, and then popped open one of the kombuchas she had because they always seemed to help mitigate her hangover symptoms.

On her way to her bedroom, she shut off the lights, and then doubled back to the floor-length windows in the living room. It was a habit, checking to make sure her friends were gone before she went to bed, just in case they were there and needed something from her. But she did a double-take when she saw Bellamy's truck actually was still there in the parking lot. Frowning, she looked at the stove clock. About twenty minutes had passed since she'd been dropped off. She looked back outside, peeling the curtain aside more to make sure that was really his truck.

It was. It was for sure. Her heart was all at once beating harder in a subdued panic, thinking something must have gone wrong. She dropped the curtain and hurried to her room, socks gliding on the smooth, dark wood flooring, and went for her purse after setting down the kombucha. She'd just unzipped her purse when she heard her phone chime from inside, and she quickly grabbed it before hurrying back to the window. She unlocked it, pulling the curtain aside again, and saw that it was a text from Bellamy. She quickly swiped her phone.

 

**you asleep yet?**

 

She swallowed, blinking out the window at his truck, and texted him back.

 

_No, not yet._

 

There was no reply, but it showed that he read it. And then movement in her periphery caught her eye, and she looked down to the parking lot to see Bellamy hopping out of his truck. He closed the door, looked around to make sure there were no vehicles, and then jogged across the road to the building. Clarke stared, face and hands pressed right up against the cool glass, but he disappeared from sight. He must have been coming up, though. That was the only reason he'd have for coming toward the building.

Clarke squeezed her eyes shut, exhaling sharply, and pushed away from window, curtains fluttering back into place. She rushed to turn the lights back on, clicking all three of them and turning the dimmer switch to low.

She didn't want to keep talking about things with him, at least not right now. Were they going to have another weird argument? But, then, maybe it was better that way, to just get it all over and done with instead of waiting for the morning. She was nothing but nervous, though. After a moment of pacing, she went instead to the small, padded bench in her entrance hallway and sat there.

She couldn't stop bobbing her knee, arms crossed as she leaned into the wall, head tilted back. She was already pretty drunk, but she kind of wished she was just a  _teensy_ bit drunker.

She sighed out another deep breath and closed her eyes, waiting anxiously. It was her fault anyway for having brought this all up, so fine; if he wanted to talk, then they'd talk.

Clarke could do that.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **Hey, self.**
> 
> Yo, what's up?
> 
> **Not too much. I just have a quick question for ya. Uh - why?**
> 
> Why what?
> 
> **You know what.**
> 
> I'm afraid you've lost me.
> 
> **You ended it there? The highest point of tension, _that's_ where you chose to end it?**
> 
> Here's the thing, right - I'm updating in ~3 days, and the scene to resolve the tension was literally over 2000 words, and it segued right into some 'teaching'. I don't like ending fics at high points of tension, but it was basically the end of a scene, so what was I to do?!?
> 
> **Lame answer. Second question--**
> 
> No.
> 
> **Are you really going to pretend this fic _isn't_ merely another excuse for Bellamy and Clarke to bone while they pretend they're doing it because it's n e c e s s a r y?**
> 
> What's. It. To. You?
> 
> **I have a moral obligation to tell you when you're being a promoter of one of the seven deadly sins, aka lust, aka stop.**
> 
> How about you mind your own business, self?
> 
> **How about you--**
> 
> Blocked.


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey do you guys remember when I said I was going to put out an update two days ago, and then I just didn't do that? Because I do. (And I'm sorry, plz forgiveness)
> 
> Chapter count is officially DROPPED as I realize my life does not allow for my plans to come to fruition as easily as I'd like. So thanks, life. It's great knowing you. Really just ... so great.
> 
> Final thing, this chapter is as short as the first one because I've been busy and mentally stretched thin, and if I didn't so something short, nothing would be posted. But I wanted to make a little bit of progress in zis fic.

Clarke didn't answer when Bellamy knocked. Instead, she stared hard at the door, rapidly clicking one long fingernail off another. Sometime between taking a seat on the bench and hearing Bellamy at her door, Clarke had begun to panic. It was likely a result of the rapid sobering she'd done in the last several hundred seconds, and she was in no place to discuss tonight's matters with Bellamy sober. Tomorrow after a good night's rest and copious amounts of coffee, sure. Tonight? Absolutely not.

But what was she supposed to do? She'd just texted him that she was awake. She couldn't very well put it off  _now._

A notification sounded on her phone, the noise a lot louder than she remembered it being, and she cringed, teeth gritting together. There was no way Bellamy didn't hear it through the door. He probably knew she was stalling. She quickly unlocked her phone, her nerves fraying further when she saw it was a text message.

 

**hey im at your door.. can you open up please?**

 

"Shit - okay," she whispered, locking her phone with a little _click_ and dropping it on the bench. She rose and skittered down the short hall, inhaling deeply through her nose and exhaling through her mouth much too quickly to actually be calming. She nudged the light pink heels out of the way with her foot, the material clacking against the wall, and then she touched the door with one hand and opened it with the other.

Bellamy was standing there, his tanned face tinged lightly pink. He was breathing a little heavier than normal, too, a little less controlled - just like Clarke. When he did nothing but tense at seeing her, Clarke cleared her throat, one hand braced on the door frame, the other holding the edge of the door.

"Sorry, I was just coming over when you texted," she said, a little put off by the strange look on his face.

He nodded, saying nothing. Clarke bit the inside of her cheek, growing less relaxed with every silent second that passed between them.

"Are you okay?" she asked.

His jaw clenched and he nodded again, still silent. Clarke dropped her eyes down to where he was flexing his hands, and then flicked them back up to his face just in time to see him swallow. Her lungs suddenly tightened, making her realize she was holding her breath, so she quickly let it out and took a deep inhale only to sigh that one out, too.

Her limbs were agitated, itching to have some sort of energetic release. It was only building more the longer he didn't say anything. Why did he come up if he didn't plan on saying anything? Why did he call her to the door if he wasn't going to say anything?!

"Did you take the stairs?" she asked, which was a stupid question because he was obviously only flushed from jogging from the truck to her building. There was no way he ran up _twenty-two_ flights of stairs, but she was just looking for something to break the silence.

"I did," he said quickly, voice over-loud.

Clarke lifted her chin, brows slightly raised, and blinked. "Oh?"

He swallowed again. "I needed to burn off some energy."

"Oh," she said, suddenly feeling a little out of breath herself.

Bellamy watched her for just a moment longer before he shook out one of his hands.

"So--uh ... can - can I come in?"

Clarke moved back, opening the door wider for him, and Bellamy stepped inside. He took her hand away from the door with his eyes on her, closing it himself. He didn't say anything, blinking quickly and looking back and forth between her eyes. His gaze was so intense that Clarke felt uncomfortable holding it, having to look away as she crossed her arms, shoulders curled slightly inward.

"W-what's up?" she asked.

He was very obviously nervous, which was making Clarke feel the same way.

"Can I have a glass of water?"

Clarke relaxed. "Oh, yeah, of course," she said, uncrossing her arms and turning to head into the kitchen. She heard him following, so she glanced back and pointed at his feet. "Shoes."

"Oh, sorry."

He stopped to toe them off, and Clarke took the opportunity to face forwards again and mouth  _fuck, fuck, fuck_ as she went to get a water glass.

Bellamy came into the kitchen just as she'd finished filling the glass with water from the pitcher. She slid it across the counter for him without looking at him, and turned to put away the jug.

"Thanks," he said quietly, grabbing the glass and chugging down half the water before she'd even faced him again. He paused to breathe, and when he spoke again, it was in quiet satisfaction. "Your water's always so cold."

Clarke pursed her lips, trying not to smile. "Yours would get cold, too, if you put it in the fridge."

Bellamy gulped down the rest of the water, tilting his head back and exposing the way his throat bobbed with every swallow. Clarke watched a bead of sweat trail down his neck and disappear beneath the white collar of his shirt. When he set the glass down, Clarke quickly snapped her eyes up to see him watching her again. But he wasn't saying anything,  _again._

Clarke, though, couldn't  _not_ address the tension. She felt about ready to snap with the pull of it.

"I'm sorry," she blurted, frowning and gripping the edge of the island as she leaned into it. "This is weird. It's weird, right?" She went on without giving him a chance to reply. "I never should have thought it was okay to ask what I asked. I made you feel so awkward, and I'm so sorry."

Before she'd even finished, Bellamy took a deep breath in, ready to speak.

"Actually ... I came up because I wanted to apologize."

Clarke stilled, expression briefly freezing before one brow pulled in.

"You didn't do anything wrong, Bellamy."

He sighed sharply and shook his head, eyes on hers as he came up to her on her side of the island.

"Look, I was being ...  _so_ shitty earlier," he said, genuine remorse in his expression.

Clarke's frown deepened. What were they talking about? Were they talking about the same event?

"You really don't have anything to be sorry for. You were just voicing your opinion--"

"No, I wasn't," he interrupted, his voice strong enough that she didn't push it. "I understood what you were asking, and I got it - I _do_ get it. I get why you want experience. My actual opinion on that is that, if you really do want me to, then..." He hesitated, doubt flitting across his face, making him lower his gaze. But then he relaxed with a soft blink, and nodded to himself, looking at her again. "You asked for my help, so I'll help. That's what friends do, right?"

She stared, trying to determine if he was serious.

Bellamy hurried on. "Unless you changed your mind."

She hadn't, but had _he_ really?

"Are you sure?" she asked.

He nodded again, clenching his jaw and swallowing. "I am."

Clarke bit the inside of her cheek, wary. "You were pretty adamant that you didn't want to."

"I know," he said, dropping his eyes again. "But I realized it was just because I was ... making choices for you. I didn't say no because of what I wanted, I said no because I didn't want you to regret wasting your first time."

Clarke gaped. "It wouldn't be a waste, Bellamy."

He looked at her like he needed confirmation, which was a reaction she certainly couldn't have predicted. Was he insecure? Was  _he_ the insecure one?

And then it hit her that she  _had_ said some unintentionally rude things, things that she'd noticed had been misconstrued at the time she'd said them.

Clarke's features softened, and she stepped closer. "Is this because of what I said about it not being with someone special?"

He shook his head, the movement jerky and much too quick.

"No, I ... it's..."

Clarke moved close enough so she could hold his forearm.

"Bellamy, you are  _the most_ important person in my life," she said. His eyes flicked up to hers, brows lightly furrowed, and Clarke shook her head. "I didn't mean that, like ... I don't know, that I was just trying to get it over with, and that I didn't care how it happened or who it was with. I asked _you_ to do it because ... well, to be honest, because you're you. I wouldn't have asked anyone else. I wouldn't have wanted it with anyone else." His expression changed at that, and Clarke quickly lowered her eyes, giving her head a brief shake and taking her hand back. "I hope that's not weird to say."

Bellamy tapped his forefinger lightly on the counter, looking at it instead of at her.

"No, not weird," he said.

Clarke chanced a glance up without lifting her head, seeing that his expression was soft and relaxed. It made her more comfortable, too; maybe even a little excited at the implications of their conversation.

"So you're ... you're sure, then?" she asked, stuffing her hands in her big front pocket so he couldn't see them fidgeting.

He nodded. "I'm sure."

"Do you think you'll be uncomfortable?" she asked after a moment, just to be sure.

"I won't be," he said quickly, face open. "I'm not."

Clarke's toes curled in her fluffy socks. "Even if I'm really bad at what we do?"

He laughed softly and nodded, leaning ever so slightly closer.

"Even then."

Clarke didn't think he understood, though. He couldn't predict how uncomfortable the situation could potentially become, given he wasn't the one experiencing everything for the first time at the ripe old age of twenty-seven.

"By 'really bad', I kind of meant, like ... what if I'm _so_ horrible that it ruins our friendship?"

It felt stupid to ask it, but she'd read certain off-putting things online a while back while doing some informative Google searches. There were many articles expressing why it was a bad idea rather than a good one to confess love to one's best friend, giving examples from real people who'd done it and had their best friend never speak to them again. Not that this situation was the same as those ones, but ... well....

Bellamy smirked as soon as she'd asked the question, eyebrows pressed together and raised. Evidently, he'd agreed that it was a stupid question.

"That's not a thing," he said.

For certain reasons, Clarke didn't want to bring up the Google searches, but she knew _from them_  that what he was insisting 'wasn't a thing' had actually happened to people before.

"What if it is?" she pressed, needing more solid reassurance.

Bellamy rolled his eyes, but he didn't look too mad.

"Even if you break my dick, it wouldn't ruin our friendship," he said, one brow lifting. "I mean ... we're forever, aren't we?"

Clarke had been a little taken-aback by the first thing he'd said, but the second part quickly got her attention. He'd said it like it wasn't even a question to him, like it was the most obvious thing in the world. Clarke bit both corners of her mouth to stop from smiling, but it just hurt, so she let it happen, removing her hands from the hoodie pocket and clasping them behind her back instead.

"Yes," she said, flicking her eyes up to his again to see his own pleased smile. "We are."

They stood like that for a moment, close together and gazing at each other, and then Bellamy's smile slowly morphed into one of expectation.

"Well, then?" he said, swallowing quickly and leaning on his forearm on the island, making him a little shorter than her. "How would you like to start?"

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [Here](https://archiveofourown.org/works/15759888/chapters/36655809) is a story I just saw today that has a vaguely similar premise (at least with the sexual teaching thing). I haven't read it, so I'm just going off the summary, but since I've been taking so long to update, you guys might want to check out that fic instead. The writer's already got 100,000 words, so you won't have to wait! :)
> 
> For those of you who intend to leave a comment on this fic, I'd like to make a request if I may. Could you tell me which of the following two options you prefer, please?
> 
> a) quicker updates, but shorter chapters (updates every 1-2 days, chapter length 1500-3000 words)  
> b) slower updates, but longer chapters (updates every 5-6 days, chapter length 5000 to 7000 words)
> 
> Either works for me, so I'd like to know what you ladies prefer, and then I'll try to work whichever option into my schedule :)


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The Fluffpocalypse has arrived. It's a Fluffdemic. Save yourselves.

_"How would you like to start?"_

Clarke blinked, lips slowly parting.

"I don't ... I don't really know," she said, cracking her knuckles. "I don't know the first thing about this. Can you lead?"

Bellamy's face softened, and he stood straighter, nodding.

"Sure. How about," he paused, stepping closer and taking her shoulders in a reassuring squeeze, smiling softly, "you go get comfortable on the couch, and I'll just...."

Clarke tensed at his silence. "What? You'll just what?"

He clenched his jaw when he swallowed, and then dropped his hands. 

"You have any booze?"

"Why?" she asked. "Are you already uncomfortable?"

"No," he said, like it was obvious, shaking his head and looking down. "I'm just ... a little nervous."

She laughed softly, thinking he was kidding, but then he met her eyes and she realized he wasn't.

"Oh," she said, nodding quickly. "Um ... yeah, I've got rum, vodka, gin, some whiskey I think, and jager. Pick your poison."

"Thanks," he said on an exhale, walking around her to the cupboard above the fridge where she kept her alcohol.

She willed herself to relax on the way to the couch, sitting with her leg curled under herself, hands in the sleeves of her sweater. Bellamy had the right idea, drinking. Even though she wasn't feeling it as hard as she was a short time ago, she knew she was still drunk and would just end up puking if she drank anything else. It was unfortunate because she was _also_ a little nervous. More than a little. She was about to have sex for the first time, and with _Bellamy._ It was ... strange.

She heard the cupboard open, the  _clink_ of a shot glass being set on the counter.

"Hey, could you get me some water?" she called, finding her mouth rather dry.

"Sure."

She rapidly bounced her knee, looking across from her at the curtains. They weren't sheer at all, and she was feeling a little trapped. She got up and scurried across the floor to wrench them all open, letting the view of the city lights into her apartment. Feeling uncharacteristically warm, she opened the patio door, too, immediately enveloped in a comforting, chilly breeze. When she turned, Bellamy was downing a shot of vodka, immediately pouring another one.

"How many shots did you take?" she asked, sitting on the couch again, this time with both feet under her and her arm over the back of the couch, watching him.

"Two," he said, downing the third.

Clarke shrank a little into herself, watching him turn the cap back on the vodka.

"Do you still want to do this?" she asked, because it really seemed like he didn't if he had to be drunk for it.

He looked up at her without lifting his head.

"I want ... yeah."

He still didn't sound very convincing. Her expression must have revealed how she felt, because Bellamy went on.

"I do," he insisted, turning to put the vodka away. "I just never thought anything like this would happen."

He grabbed the glass of water he'd filled for her and came to the couch, handing it off with a quiet, 'Here you go'.

Clarke took it and drank while Bellamy looked up in front of them at the opened door, quiet sounds of the city drifting in.

"You warm?" he asked, looking back at her.

Clarke nodded, still gulping.

Bellamy looked at her sweater. "You don't want to take that off?"

She set the glass down on the counter, wiping her mouth with her sleeve.

"I have nothing under it and I don't want to change."

It was a little stupid, but she felt more comfortable being all bundled up. Like she was protected. She sat straighter, waiting for him to start, but both of them just stared.

Clarke glanced away and then back to him. "What are you waiting for?"

"What am I - what are _you_ waiting for?"

"You," she said, like it was obvious. "You're supposed to lead."

"I kn--yeah. I'm giving you some time to relax."

"I don't need any time," she lied, not wanting to seem childish.

Bellamy nodded, looking out the window.

"Well ... I think I might."

"Oh," she said, now wishing she'd been truthful herself. "Okay."

He didn't say anything else, leaning forward with his elbows pressed to his knees, hands hanging limply. A long enough time had passed that Clarke started to feel that maybe he'd changed his mind.

"Are you _sure_ you want to--"

He nodded fast and hard, lips pressed together. "Yeah. Just one sec."

He clenched his jaw, looking deep in thought, and then let out a slow breath as he shifted to face her. The couch barely moved when he pulled himself closer, eyes on her sleeves where they engulfed her hands. With his thigh now pressing lightly to hers, he reached forward and took her hands out. Holding them, he ran his thumbs once over her skin before setting her them on his shoulders.

"We'll just," he paused, lightly shaking his head as he leaned closer, touching her face, "start with the basics."

She nodded quickly, swallowing.

"Yeah?" Bellamy asked, quiet.

Clarke nodded again, but her heart was hammering in her chest, and she was incredibly uncomfortable.

"Wait, wait," she breathed before he could kiss her, sliding her hands down to splay over his chest, head bent and eyes closed. "I'm really nervous. Give me a sec."

"Sure," he said at once, dropping his hand to her knee. "Take your time."

Nearly a minute passed with them sitting in silence, Bellamy patiently stroking her just above the knee, but Clarke was only growing more panicked. This was so awkward and contrived and ... it wasn't real. Or was it real? Just because he wasn't in love with her, did it make it any less real? She knew he loved her, she knew he'd never do anything to hurt her, but ... God, were first times always so nerve-wracking?

"Fuck," she said on a sharp exhale and scooted back, Bellamy's hand sliding off her leg. "I think ... I think I changed my mind."

"What do you mean?"

She shook her head, not looking at him. "I don't think I can do this."

"Well, hey, wait," he said, sliding close again, bending his face to see hers. "Is it me? Am I making you uncomfortable?"

"No, it's not you at all," she said, shaking her head. "I wanted this to be you because I knew you'd be nice about it, and you are. It's just a lot scarier than I thought it would be."

"Well, it's going to be," he said, both of his hands touching her outer thighs in a show of comfort. "Everyone's nervous for their first kiss."

Clarke bit the inside of her cheek, lightly frowning.

_What if you don't like it?_

"What if I'm really bad at it?"

Bellamy shook his head. "It's just me, Clarke."

"I'm aware of who you are, yes."

She slumped into the back of the couch, still facing him.

"Here," he said, lifting his hand. "Why don't you do it here first and I'll tell you if it feels off?"

She scrunched her face. "You want me to kiss your hand?"

"Sure," he said, shrugging a shoulder. "Why not?"

Clarke thought it was incredibly awkward, but she only hesitated for a few seconds, looking between his hand and his face. Bellamy didn't say anything when she took his hand and brought it in front of her mouth. She stilled a moment there, too, seeing his eyes on her.

"Can you close your eyes for this?" she asked. "It's weird."

He did it without a word, and Clarke swallowed before giving his hand her most normal kiss.

Bellamy opened his eyes right after, just as Clarke was lowering his hand.

"Yeah, see?" he said. "That felt perfectly normal."

"It didn't feel weird?" she asked, assuming he was lying to protect her feelings. "Or sloppy?"

"No, it felt nice."

Clarke's face heated, and she looked down. She was a professional artist and an entrepreneur, she was an accomplished woman, she was an  _adult_ , but in this one area of her life, she felt like a naive child. It was embarrassing that just one small word of praise from Bellamy made her timid. She didn't want him to feel like he had to pander to her insecurities and emotions, and she didn't want him to see how much she liked it when he  _did._  But she also didn't want to lie to him. She didn't want to hide this part of herself, like it was something shameful. Bellamy knew she had no experience in any of this, and he chose to help her anyway. He  _had_ to have been okay with her insecurities coming up.

"What's going on in there?" he asked, lightly tapping her temple.

Clarke sighed, posture softening. "I don't know what to do. I don't know what to expect."

After a moment of watching her, Bellamy chucked her under the chin, giving her a soft smile when she looked at him.

"I'm not gonna hurt you," he said, shaking his head. "Never. This is all up to you. We stop when you say stop, we do what you want to, how you want to do it. All right?"

She swallowed, nodding. "'Kay."

"'Kay?"

She laughed lightly, smiling.

"'Kay," she repeated, and Bellamy smiled.

"I'll go slow," he said, leaning in again. "Just relax."

Clarke closed her eyes, letting Bellamy take the lead, and tensed up when she felt his breath on her face. It smelled like alcohol. She was suddenly insecure about her own breath. She would have brushed her teeth before going to sleep, but she noticed Bellamy outside before she could. She didn't even have a shower!

"You're not relaxing," Bellamy said, lips hovering in front of hers.

"Sorry," Clarke said, trying not to breathe on him.

"Can I kiss you?"

A shiver ran through her spine unbidden, part nerves, part anticipation.

"Yeah."

In the next second, his mouth pressed against hers, the fingers of one hand against her neck, thumb on her cheek. Clarke remained still, fingers trembling, and felt Bellamy move even closer on the couch.

"So just," he said, kissing her again, "kiss me back, okay?"

"How?" she whispered, fisting her sweatpants.

He ran his thumb over her cheek, his other hand covering her fingers.

"How you did on my hand."

Clarke swallowed, and did what he said.

"Yeah, just like that," he breathed, his hold on her face and hand now more sure.

He unfurled her fingers and took them in his, lifting them to the side of his body. Clarke's touch was hesitant, but she left her hand there as Bellamy brought his to her face, cupping her cheeks. She was worried about not finding the right rhythm, but realized very quickly that it came somewhat naturally. Or maybe it was just Bellamy coaxing it out of her.

"Am I doing it weird?" she asked after a moment.

"No."

Clarke broke away and pulled back, meeting his dark eyes.

"That sounded fake," she said, but Bellamy shook his head.

"You're just nervous," he said, thumbs caressing her cheeks. "It's not your technique that's suffering, you're just holding back."

She looked down. "Shit. Sorry."

"Stop apologizing. Relax. Don't think about what we're doing, just kiss me."

He moved closer, curving an arm around her waist and lowering her to the couch, hovering over her. Surprised, she raised both hands to his chest, pressed against them, but Bellamy hadn't tried moving any closer.

"Is this bad?" he asked, his middle finger tracing her hairline to tuck her hair behind her ear.

Clarke curled her fingers against his chest, no longer pushing.

"No."

"You want me to keep going?" he asked, leaning just barely closer, and Clarke nodded.

She closed her eyes when he moved down again, not as nervous this time when she felt his mouth. She dropped her hands to her stomach, and Bellamy immediately pulled back.

"Don't be afraid to touch me," he said, all at once in mentor mode. "Pretend I'm ... someone you want to do this with. A celebrity crush or something."

She pulled her brows together. "I'm not going to pretend you're someone else."

"Well, that's how you'll get into it. If you're not into it, then--"

She kissed him, touching both of his cool cheeks, a little damp with sweat. Bellamy responded at once, lowering onto her so she didn't have to strain up. She wasn't going to think about someone else. She didn't want to kiss anyone else anyway. She could get into this; if he wanted her to relax and get into it, then she would.

"Are you thinking about someone?" he asked after a moment.

"You," she said, blushing furiously. "Shut up, Bellamy."

He paused for just a moment before he was pressing closer, balancing himself on his arms above her, his chest brushing hers. Clarke drew her fingers into his curls, which were tangled and a little wet, and she snickered, breaking the kiss.

"You're so sweaty," she murmured.

Bellamy let out a breathy laugh. "Sorry. You can wipe your hands on me."

He swiped his palm over his forehead, and she wiped both of hers down his chest to hold his waist, looking at him. He looked right back, doing nothing else for a moment but looking at her, his eyes tracking a path all over her face.

Bellamy swallowed. "Do you think you're done with the basics?"

"I don't ... uh, yeah. Yes. Are you?"

He swallowed again, letting out a heavy breath, and nodded. Blinking quickly, Clarke lifted to meet his lips again, curving her hands around his middle.

"Is it weird if I touch you like this?" she asked, hands gliding over his back.

He shook his head, sinking his hardness down into her.

"I like it," he breathed, cupping her cheek and rolling his hips.

Clarke was panting, holding him a little too tightly, not quite sure if she liked what he was doing or not. She was so nervous, but she also felt so relieved that she could make him hard. He kept rocking into her, starting to let out breathy sounds into their kisses. Clarke shivered, meeting his hips just to try it. Bellamy groaned low in his throat, rocking hard and long into her and pressing his tongue into her mouth at the same time he brought one hand under her sweater, gliding up the bare expanse of her stomach.

Breaking the kiss, Clarke lightly pushed him back. His breaths were coming a little louder, eyes heated, but he immediately withdrew his hand from beneath her clothes, leaning off her.

"Did I too much?"

She tried to say something, but she was too nervous to speak. She couldn't even look at him. What if she made it awkward?

"It's okay," he encouraged with raised brows, nodding quickly. "Tell me."

Clarke swallowed, sinking back into the couch, hands in fists over her ribs.

"I don't think I'm ready for ... sex."

"Oh," he said, his voice pleasant, like he'd expected something worse. "Well, okay. What are you ready for?"

Clarke chanced a glance at his face, finding no judgment whatsoever.

She wet her bottom lip, pulling it into her mouth.

"Just kissing?"

He smiled like he was trying to suppress it.

"What?" she asked, suddenly insecure. "Am I being immature?"

"No, of course not," he said, shaking his head. "I just thought that was cute, the way you said it."

She relaxed, warm all over. "Oh."

"Just kissing, huh?" he murmured, still smiling as he leaned forward. "I'm pretty happy with just kissing."

His lips met hers again, much softer and less urgent. Only a few seconds passed before she realized his arm was trembling.

"Maybe we can sit differently," she suggested into the kiss, and Bellamy broke away.

"Okay," he said, sitting back on his heels, gazing down at her. "How do you want to sit?"

Clarke slid back, standing from the couch and pulling her sweater all the way down.

"Would it be okay if I sat on your lap?"

His eyebrows jumped, and she quickly went on.

"I'm not trying to be suggestive. I just think ... it might be more comfortable. For us both. If you don't mind."

"--Okay. Um," he paused, pressing his fists into the seat of the couch and adjusting his position. "How do you want me?"

She pressed her lips together, unnerved in a good way, but trying not to show it.

"However is fine," she said. "You're good how you are."

He was sitting back with his hands flat on his thighs, looking eager.

Suddenly very thirsty, Clarke drank the rest of her water, other hand propped on her waist, before setting down the glass and coming toward him. She'd watched porn before. She'd seen couples making out. She knew how to sit on someone's lap, hopefully well enough that she wouldn't screw it up. When she was in front of him, Bellamy held his hands a little off to the side, making room for her. She pressed one knee against his leg, and then swung the other up, hovering over him, hesitating there with her hips rather close to his face.

"You change your mind?" he asked when she didn't do anything, and dropped his hands to the couch.

"No, I - I  don't want to crush you," she said, afraid to admit to him - or even herself - that she was excited to know what it felt like to sit in his lap.

"You won't," he said, and then when she narrowed her eyes at him, added, "Have a seat, and I'll let you know."

Clarke took a deep breath, sighing it out, and relaxed onto him. She scooted a little forward until her knees touched the back of the couch, but when Bellamy flinched, she jerked up again.

"See?" she said, one hand gripping the back of the couch by his shoulder. "I told you I'd crush you."

"You didn't crush me."

"I saw you flinch."

"That's because you were rubbing yourself on me and I was trying not to get hard."

"You--" She cut herself off with a sharp breath through her nose, pressing her lips together and sitting back down. She liked the way his thighs felt under her own. She didn't think she'd felt so giddy before. "Do you want to kiss some more?"

Bellamy laughed like he didn't expect it, and nodded.

"Come here," he said, reaching out to her, and Clarke went willingly.

Their teeth knocked, and they laughed quietly into each other's mouths. Clarke had trouble quieting down, so much so that Bellamy smothered her in kisses to get her back on track, his smile evident against her lips. They kissed again, and again, and they laughed and held each other, touching each other's skin without wandering anywhere too far. Clarke leaned into him, and he leaned into her.

She got lost in it, sometimes distracted by her thoughts or by feeling like she was so relaxed she could fall asleep, and Bellamy would hold his arms loosely around her to keep her close. It was easy - for a time - for Clarke to forget that her objective was supposed to be getting experience. When she remembered, she became more vigorous about it, and then Bellamy matched her, gently biting her, asking her if she was okay so many times that she told him to stop asking.

Before long, they both got very into it, Bellamy hardening beneath her again, his hands bunching in her sweater. He was moaning softly into her kisses, and knowing she was turning him on turned  _her_ on. Without really meaning to, Clarke rolled her hips down onto him.

"Just this?" she breathed, rocking again.

Bellamy groaned, slipping his broad hands under her sweater at her back, meeting her hips with thrusts of his own instead of answering. She had his face in her hands, and his warm palms were flat and spread on her back. Their mouths were close together, but not touching, their heavy breaths mingling between them. They weren't kissing anymore. This couldn't even classify as some kind of lesson, it was just panting against each other's mouths and using each other for friction. Something about it seemed off, and she felt like maybe she should stop, but Christ, she didn't usually get this turned on.

When Bellamy moved his hands to her bare hips, helping her roll her hips into him, she found herself tempted to ask if he wanted to do more, if he wanted to show her something else. Because of it, she stopped and pulled back. She didn't want to be impulsive. She  _knew_ she wasn't ready to go further yet. She'd just end up freezing up and getting nervous and pushing him off again.

Bellamy looked a little dazed when he realized she wasn't touching him anymore, but he quickly got his bearings back. Clarke was holding his gaze, her quiet breaths loud, and there was a brief moment where she forgot everything. His face was open, his eyes relaxed, and his hands were against her skin, thumbs rubbing in soft circles. It was nice. She didn't usually like to be touched, but she liked it when he touched her.

A sharp gust of wind blew in, whistling against the glass, and ruffled their hair. Someone honked outside.

"I think that's good for now," she said, abrupt.

Bellamy nodded at once, swallowing.

"Whatever you want."

"It's wasn't bad. It's just that ... my lips feel a little weird."

It wasn't quite a lie. Her lips  _were_ tingling.

"Yeah, mine, too."

He slid his hands out from her sweater and down her legs to rest against the couch.

"Sorry," she said because she felt like she should, like she stopped him from having something he wanted.

Bellamy just shook his head, a blink softening his face, and relaxed into the cushions.

"Did you like it?" he asked, voice quiet.

"Yeah," she said with a nod, mouth dry.  _Did_ you _like it?_ "Was I normal?"

"I would have to say so."

He was smiling now, a little teasing, his hands holding the outsides of her knees.

"So," she started, pausing because she felt embarrassed even asking, "you're still okay with helping me do more of this? And more of other things? Later?"

He nodded without hesitating. "I feel better about it now. It's not like I thought it would be."

"How did you think it would be?"

He dropped his gaze, brow lightly furrowed.

"Confusing."

Wasn't it? It was for her. Maybe it wasn't. _Wasn't it?_ "It wasn't?"

"I _think_ I can be an adult about it," he teased, smiling softly, but then grew serious. "I ... love you." Clarke's lips parted, her heart quickly picking up speed. Bellamy wasn't looking at her when he went on. "I'm always gonna love you. You're my best friend, and I care about you, and I know you care about me, too."

She swallowed, her stomach a hollow pit, realizing it wasn't a confession like she thought.

"Yeah," she said, because she cared about him more than anyone. "Of course I do."

Bellamy idly tapped his finger against her leg, his gaze still lowered.

"I guess I was worried that the reason you asked me to do this was because you didn't care about ... how things could change. I was worried you didn't think it through, and that you'd resent choosing me, and that  _I'd_ resent saying yes, and that ... after everything happened, we'd just pretend that it didn't." He looked at her then, shaking his head. "I don't want that."

Clarke knit her brows, shoulders dropping.

"I don't ... I don't know what you're saying."

He wet his lips, briefly clenching his jaw.

"If we're gonna do this, then it's gonna have to be ... us, you know? We're going to have to be ourselves, and be open, and be okay with it maybe feeling awkward sometimes. I don't want to dance around it. If we're going to have sex, and I'm going to help you get comfortable with your sexuality, I don't want it to be separate from everything else we're doing. I want it to be a part of it. I want it to ... mean something." He paused, but Clarke didn't dare say anything. It was like he was pulling her own wants and desires out of her head, things she was too afraid to say herself. "I know it's not the typical way to go about things, but I do love you. I won't hurt you, and I'll make sure you feel good. Can you trust me saying that?"

Clarke felt like she could cry, her heart warm and open and incredibly touched.

"Of course."

Bellamy nodded, face relaxing, relieved.

"I think we can assume things are going to change. We're sharing personal parts of ourselves, and that's going to impact our friendship. But it's not going to get worse, because I care about you too much, and I won't let it." He held her eyes, gently stroking his thumbs over her knees. "Do you believe me?"

"Yeah."

His smile was immediate, first pleased, and then a little cheeky.

"So next time we do this, I expect to see your wild side, Clarke Griffin."

She let out a laugh, biting her bottom lip. "'Kay."

"'Kay."

She laughed again, and so did he.

"So I can stay the night, right? 'Cause I am a  _little_ drunk."

Grinning, Clarke rolled her eyes and climbed off his lap, going to the hall cupboard to get spare blankets and a pillow, feeling  _very_ at ease.

"I'll make up the couch."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It's my birthday today (technically yesterday - the 26th - since it's midnight), so I wanted to give something for all the receiving I've done :) Also writing deep love fluff makes me happy, and happy is something I needed because it was kind of a sad day. I spent it exclusively with my mom at her house, talking and just enjoying each other's company and keeping positive. My dad took his life 7 months ago to the day, and it's my first birthday without him, so it was hard to get through.
> 
> If you're struggling with mental health issues and can't see a therapist for whatever reason, this [Resources Page](https://www.cci.health.wa.gov.au/Resources/Looking-After-Yourself) is something I found to be very helpful (my therapist gave me worksheets from it). You click on whichever area you need help in (depression, body dysmorphia, procrastination, anxiety, etc), and then in the new page it brings up, you click the tab that says 'Workbook' and complete the modules. I've used it for certain things, and it helped a lot. I don't know if any of you could even use that, but just in case :)
> 
> I hope you guys liked this chapter! I think the ending bit was my fav. If you want to leave a comment, I'd love to know which part(s) you liked the most, too, but only if you feel like sharing :)


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